PS 

3525 

09 

T8 

1915 

MAIN 


UC-NRLF 


THE    TRAGEDY 


THE  COVER  DESIGN  IS  BY  J.  RUELAS 


By  Gilbert  Moyle 

THE  LONG  WAY 

A  SEQUENCE  OF  LOVE  SONNETS 


THE  TRAGEDY 

A  Fantasy  in  Verse 

BY 
GILBERT  MOYLE 


BOSTON 

THE  FOUR  SEAS  COMPANY 
1915 


Copyright,  1915,  by 

THE  FOUR  SEAS  COMPANY 


THE   FOUR   SEAS     PRESS 
BOSTON    AND   NORWOOD 


TO  F.  L.  P. 


34646G 


PROLOGUE 


PROLOGUE 

Fresh  from  the  pantomine  of  fairy  lore, 

And  eager  to  recount  the  story  o'er, 

She  sought  my  study  and  in  breathless  way 

Told  all  the  marvels  she  had  seen  that  day : 

The  little  princess  in  a  spangled  gown 

And  silver  slippers  and  a  golden  crown, 

The  prince  that  came  to  woo  her — happy  pair! — 

The  gallant  knights  and  lovely  ladies  there. 

And  there  were  scenes  of  splendor,  temples,  courts, 

The  prince's  palace  and  his  frowning  forts ; 

A  witch's  spell,  a  dwarf,  a  giant  tall, 

A  royal  banquet  in  the  castle  hall, 

And  love  at  last  triumphant  over  all. 

She  sighed  and  said :  "I  wish  that  I  could  be 

The  princess  in  a  play — a  tragedy ! 

Weave  me  a  dream/1    Ere  I  my  pledge  could  keep 

Her  tired  little  eyes  had  closed  in  sleep ; 

But  Fancy,  started  on  its  vagrant  way, 

Began  to  weave  the  dream,  the  promised  play. 


ACT   I. 


ACT    I. 

The  curtain  rises ;  on  the  stage  I  see 
A  little  maid,  perhaps  of  three  times  three, 
The  counterpart  in  all  her  girlish  charms 
Of  this  wee  bird  that  nestles  in  my  arms; 
Shy,  simple,  sweet,  yet  boldly  unafraid, 
A  dainty  little  miss,  a  winsome  maid. 
The  light  that  shimmers  in  her  lustrous  hair 
Seems  lovingly  to  pause  and  linger  there, 
As  though  the  sunbeams  in  her  tresses  sought 
A  richer  gold  than  they  from  Heaven  had  brought. 
Her  modest  eyes,  her  countenance  demure, 
Reflect  a  soul  within  that's  sweet  and  pure. 
On  her  had  Heaven  set  its  fairest  seal 
Of  love  and  beauty,  youth's  supreme  appeal, 
And  charms  unrealized  but  not  less  real. 
With  childhood's  gentle,  unassuming  grace 
She  fills  and  honors  honor's  lofty  place. 
Ten  little  maidens  wait  upon  her  train, 
And  on  the  lawn  there  strive  with  might  and  main 

13 


14  The  Tragedy 

A  score  of  knights  errant  whose  lance  of  lath 

Or  rough-hewn  dagger  lunged  in  mimic  wrath 

Brings  little  cries  of  terror  or  delight 

From  hearts  that  tremble  while  their  heroes  fight. 

And  now  a  youth  with  sheepish,  downcast  eyes 

Advances  to  the  front  to  claim  the  prize, 

Feels  rather  than  perceives  her  smile  so  proud 

That  laurel-crowns  him  'mid  the  plaudits  loud ; 

Then,  happy,  stumbles  back  into  the  crowd. 


As  often  at  the  play  the  first  scene  ends 
Showing  not  whitherwhere  the  action  tends, 
So  down  the  curtain  fell.    The  music's  strain 
Awoke  sweet  echoes  with  its  sweet  refrain. 
Once  more  the  gallant  knights  with  valor  strive, 
Once  more  in  lovely  cheeks  the  roses  thrive. 
O  happy  childhood !  little  do  you  know 
How  rough  the  way,  how  far  you  soon  must  go ! 


ACT   II. 


ACT    II. 

The  music  ceased,  again  the  curtain  rose 
Another  scene,  new  faces  to  disclose. 
My  wandering  fancy,  taken  unaware, 
To  this  new  picture  hastens  to  repair 
As  a  belated  comer  seeks  his  chair. 
It  is  the  court  of  Love.    No  king  or  queen 
Upon  a  lofty  throne  of  gold  is  seen ; 
The  mighty  monarch  of  that  wide  domain, 
Wide  as  the  earth  and  fair  as  heavenly  plain, 
Doth  choose  to  rule  unseen.    A  sward  of  green, 
A  flowery  dell,  a  lake,  a  pleasant  grove, 
Wherever  sighing  youth  delights  to  rove, 
There  is  the  realm  and  there  the  court  of  Love. 
Beside  a  little  brook  that  ripples  through 
A  sylvan  fairyland  where  young  birds  woo 
And  timid  flowrets  from  their  mossy  beds 
In  ferny  solitudes  lift  up  their  heads — 
Beside  the  brook,  with  many  a  shout  and  song, 
A  band  of  youths  and  maidens  pass  along. 

17 


1 8  The  Tragedy 

Some  gather  flowers  and  weave  them  in  their  hair, 

For  beauty  evermore  would  be  more  fair  ; 

Some  dance  and  frolic,  light  of  foot  and  heart, 

And  joyful  all,  all  play  a  joyful  part. 

And  so  with  laughter,  jest  and  merriment, 

Thoughtless  of  self,  on  others'  joy  intent, 

They  pass  from  view ;  but  on  the  quiet  air, 

E'en  as  the  Angelus  at  evening  prayer, 

Their  voices  linger  like  a  blessing  there. 

A  savage  listening  to  the  pilgrims'  psalm 

Might  find  within  his  heart  a  strange  new  calm 

And  wonder  as  did  I  when  hand  in  hand 

Fair  youth  and  lovely  love  walked  through  the  land. 

But  turning  from  a  moment's  reverie 

The  scene  still  peopled,  still  as  fair  I  see ; 

For  some,  I  find,  had  tarried  by  the  way 

And  here  and  there  like  little  children  stray. 

Not  as  they  did  in  a  tumultuous  throng 

With  pealing  laughter  and  a  merry  song, 

But  silently,  their  loudest  speech  a  glance 

And  hearts  a-thrill  as  never  from  the  dance. 

I  look  again  and  smile  not  to  have  known 


The  Tragedy  19 

My  young  friends  of  the  tourney  older  grown 

Now  wandering  there  by  two  and  two  alone. 

I  see  them  all,  the  knights,  the  maidens  fair, 

Strolling  about,  full  many  a  happy  pair. 

Methinks  I  almost  hear  their  amorous  sighs, 

And  life  seems  perfect  under  perfect  skies. 

Fairest  of  all  who  of  the  throng  remained 

Is  the  fair  maid  who  at  the  tourney  reigned. 

Could  history  now  unwrite  its  written  page 

And  mark  our  day  the  legendary  age, 

Fd  swear  some  goddess  from  Olympus  high 

To  earth  had  come  to  dazzle  mortal  eye. 

The  bud  that  one  time  graced  a  summer  hour 

Is  now  the  full  bloom  of  a  perfect  flower 

That  charms  the  eye,  the  mind,  the  very  soul — 

I  can  but  marvel  while  the  moments  roll. 

Beside  her  walks  a  youth,  tall,  handsome,  strong, 

A  likely  hero  for  a  minstrel's  song. 

'Twas  he  who  at  the  tourney  won  the  prize ; 

This  time  unflinchingly  he  meets  her  eyes, 

Nay,  now  'tis  she  whose  glance  is  downward  cast — 

My  heart  stops  beating  quite  and  then  beats  fast. 


20  The  Tragedy 

Softly  her  answer  comes ;  I  hear  it  not, 

But  in  a  twinkling  Love  transfers  the  plot 

Into  a  village  church  where  sunbeams  steal 

Upon  the  pair  who  at  the  altar  kneel. 

Now  Heaven's  blessing  down  the  parson  calls ; 

"Amen"  my  heart  doth  add :  the  curtain  falls. 


Whether  from  sweet  memory  of  the  day, 
Or  at  the  happy  progress  of  the  play 
Wherein  she  starred,  the  sleeping  angel  smiled. 
Ah  me,  how  are  we  all  by  dreams  beguiled ! 
But  her  brave  confidence  o'ercame  my  fears 
And  with  new  hope  I  faced  the  coming  years, 
Sharing  her  confidence,  nor  doubting  less 
In  virtue's  triumph  and  in  love's  success. 


ACT   III. 


ACT    III. 

Ten  years  have  passed ;  the  everchanging  scene 

But  faintly  hints  the  former  fields  of  green. 

The  knights,  the  maids,  the  court  of  love,  the  church, 

Have  vanished  all ;  in  vain  my  eyes'  quick  search. 

Now  'tis  a  little  cottage  by  the  sea, 

Whose  peaceful,  pleasant  murmur  comes  to  me 

Like  sweetest  music.    Romping  on  the  shore 

Are  little  children.    From  the  cottage  door 

A  mother  watches  them,  intent  as  they 

Upon  the  mighty  import  of  the  play 

That  fills  up  childhood's  busy  work-a-day. 

Far  in  the  west  the  sun  is  sinking  low ; 

Majestic  splendor  marks  his  dying  glow. 

I  pause  the  while  my  fancy  turns  away 

To  contemplate  this  marvel  of  the  day, 

That  ages  with  the  hours  yet  onward  goes 

To  shine  in  fullest  glory  at  the  close. 

Would  life  were  so !    Would,  when  its  day  were  done, 

It  too  might  set  like  yonder  setting  sun ! 

23 


24  The  Tragedy 

But  fancy  cannot  wander  far  or  long 
From  scenes  that  little  children  gaily  throng, 
So  back  it  speeds  as  with  a  sudden  cry 
Their  tools  of  labor  are  cast  wildly  by. 
Pell  mell  they  rush  and  gain  the  village  street 
Their  sire  returning  from  the  town  to  greet. 
Now  back  again,  in  joyful  phalanx  massed, 
With  him  who  could  but  toddle  and  was  last 
Held  high  in  air,  a  youthful  Jove  elate 
Upon  Olympic  shoulders.    In  such  state 
They  cross  the  threshold  of  their  castle  home, 
Where  she  who  might  not  from  its  precincts  roam 
An  equal  welcome  gives  to  one  and  all 
As  they  besiege  the  mistress  of  the  hall. 
Soon  round  the  board  of  simple  elegance, 
Which  e'en  Cornelia's  gems  might  not  enhance, 
The  family  gather.    Ah,  a  pretty  sight ! 
Life  and  eternity  are  caught  mid-flight. 
Mid-flight  the  generations  pause  as  though 
The  secret  of  immortal  life  to  show : 
/How  in  the  child  the  man  shall  live  again; 
So  on  and  on  till  time  doth  end,  and  then — 
How  children  prattle !    How  their  laughter  seems 


The  Tragedy  25 

Sauce  to  the  food  and  sauce  to  many  themes. 

Lucullus  feasting  by  the  Roman  sea 

Such  viands  never  knew,  such  company, 

Such  flow  of  wit  and  wisdom,  such  debate, 

As  they  the  story  of  the  day  relate. 

The  thrice  proud  parents  gaze  with  loving  eye 

Upon  their  little  brood  and  so  do  I,  / 

As  proudly,  fondly  as  themselves :  in  truth, 

I  wish  their  fate  were  mine,  that  my  own  youth 

Had  thus  been  blest.    My  life  how  otherwise ! 

So  for  a  moment  other  visions  rise, 

And  ere  I  can  the  former  scene  restore 

The  music  swells,  the  lights  are  on  once  more. 

Methought  as  round  the  audience  I  gazed 

That  you  were  there  and  that  you  warmly  praised 

The  slow  unfolding  of  the  simple  tale 

That  might  from  your  own  life  have  drawn  the  veil. 

You  seemed  to  hear  a  kindred  spirit  call, 

And  apprehensive  seemed,  yet  smiled  withal. 

But  hear  me  further  and  the  tale  attend 

Until  the  last  act  of  the  play  doth  end. 


ACT   IV. 


ACT    IV. 

Tis  eventide ;  the  scene  an  ancient  room 

Lost  in  the  shadow  of  a  darkening  gloom, 

Save  when  the  fire  that  flickers  and  burns  low 

Flames  up  and  half  illumines  with  its  glow. 

Now  on  the  floor  its  fitful  radiance  falls, 

Upon  the  ceiling  now,  now  on  the  walls. 

Fantastic  shadow-shapes  that  seem  endowed 

With  all  the  change  of  Hamlet's  changing  cloud, 

Absurd,  grotesque,  or  ludicrous,  severe, 

Flit  here  and  there,  stand  forth,  and  disappear, 

Charging  with  mystery  their  brief  career. 

At  last  accustomed  to  the  semi-gloom, 

Two  figures  I  discern  within  the  room ; 

A  man  of  noble,  patriarchal  mold, 

And  my  young  heroine  at  last  grown  old. 

Together  they  have  shared  the  passing  years, 

Their  meed  of  mingled  happiness  and  tears ; 

Now  age  has  claimed  them  with  its  footstep  slow, 

Its  temples  crowned  with  deeply  drifted  snow, 

29 


30  The  Tragedy 

And  like  the  fire  they  watch  life's  flame  burns  low. 
Though  all  is  still  and  outwardly  serene, 
A  certain  sadness  dominates  the  scene ; 
Something  is  lacking — ah,  what  can  it  be? 
Straightway  the  question  asks  itself  of  me, 
"Where  are  the  children  that  with  laugh  and  shout 
Raced  through  the  halls  and  circled  in  and  out?" 
Not  there !    How  more  than  silent  is  the  place. 
Gone !  it  is  written  on  the  mother's  face. 
The  old  man  too  is  looking  far  away, 
Seemingly  thinking  of  a  bygone  day. 
For  all  their  little  brood  have  flown  afar 
And  fancy  can  but  wonder  where  they  are. 
Mayhap  some  dwell  in  distant  lands  alone ; 
Some  may  have  nests  and  nestlings  of  their  own. 
But  whether  roaming  'neath  a  tropic  sky, 
Or  gathered  'round  their  own  firesides  nearby, 
Or  sick,  or  well,  of  fate  the  wretched  pawn, 
Or  to  high  honor  risen — they  are  gone ! 
And  O  the  void  they  left  in  home  and  heart 
To  bring  such  joy  to  life  and  then  depart. 
Methinks  I  hear  the  father  sadly  sigh, 


The  Tragedy  '31 

A  tear  has  started  from  the  mother's  eye ; 
And  so,  unconscious  quite  the  old  folks  seem 
Of  all  but  their  own  thoughts,  as  in  a  dream. 
The  clock  ticks  on — not  many  hours  remain — 
A  storm  beats  wildly  'gainst  the  window  pane. 
Anon  there  comes  with  dull  monotony 
The  angry  murmur  of  the  savage  sea. 
Again  the  old  man  sighs,  again  a  tear 
Gleams  on  the  mother's  cheek,  a  diamond  sphere. 
No  word  is  spoken,  yet  their  minds  seem  fraught 
With  the  fine  harmony  of  kindred  thought, 
In  whose  close  meshes  I  at  last  am  caught. 
Then  in  a  flash  the  meaning  comes  to  me — 
O  Age,  'tis  thou,  thou  art  the  tragedy ! 


The  vision  faded.    Lying  in  my  arms, 
The  sweet  possessor  of  a  thousand  charms, 
Was  my  wee  angel.    Like  a  flower  she  seemed. 
Ah,  was  she  like  the  flower  of  whom  I  dreamed? 
Would  she  too  bloom  to  fade  at  last  away, 
E'en  as  the  fairy  creature  of  the  play? 


32  A  The  Tragedy 

The  time  must  come  when  shining  locks  of  gold 

To  silver  will  be  turned,  and  when  the  cold 

Of  life's  dull,  dreary  wintertime  will  blight 

The  fairest  beauty.    Did  I  dream  aright? 

Was  this,  alas,  to  be  her  destiny? 

Was  this,  the  common  fate,  her  tragedy  ? 

I  kissed  the  lovely,  still  unwrinkled  brow 

And  pressed  her  to  my  heart — too  close — for  now 

Her  eyes  like  petals  of  the  morn  oped  wide 

And  upward  gazed  to  mine.    She  smiled  and  sighed. 

Then  seeing  something  wrong  she  raised  her  head 

And  touched  my  cheek.    "What  makes  you  sad?"  she 

said. 

CURTAIN 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWE, 

LOAN  DEPT 


Renewed  books  are 


LD  2lA-50m-4,'59 
(Al724slO)476B 


General  Library 
«•£     ^f0"1" 


LD2lA-40m-ll,'63 
(E1602slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


— 


JWL2 

REC.cm.QtU6k78 


Berkeley 


